Sounds like your family didnt have a trashcan so were throwing left over bones in your crib.
I try not to waste my time talking about bones..
I've never mentioned this before, not even to my therapist (never had any ;-), and it has to do with memories, my earliest memories, as an infant. I remember sharing my crib with bones, human bones. I remember my grandmother, as she ran back and forth chasing bats with a broom, she smelled of death, and she was dying. Before my second birthday the crib was taken for my newborn and only sister. From then on I slept in the attic with my older brothers, and I kept hearing the stomping and the pounding of my deceased grandmother chasing the bats away. What I can't fathom is how a young infant knows about bones, and why can I remember all this stuff?